


Of Voices and Dragons

by wishfulwandrer



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Crossover with TES V: Skyrim, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-11-27 04:42:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishfulwandrer/pseuds/wishfulwandrer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins is no ordinary hobbit, despite his intentions to be. No, Bilbo Baggins is dragonborn.</p><p>THIS IS IN THE PROCESS OF GETTING COMPLETELY REWRITTEN. I stopped writing it because I didn't like it, so I wound up rewriting the whole thing. Stay tuned I guess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for a prompt over at the hobbitkink meme. This prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3138.html?thread=3999042t3999042
> 
> I took some major liberties with this as it is a crossover with a video game, and of course, everything had to change a bit to accommodate that. Also, you don't actually have to know anything about Skyrim - I try to include as much information as I can to make it fit with Middle-Earth. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy it!

The day Bilbo Baggins was born was clear, warm for September, and full of late afternoon sunshine.

The moment he was born, however, he gave such a cry that it rattled the hills in which he was born and that drew a fierce thunderous storm that could only adequately describe his feelings. The storm had moved in so quickly, hobbit folk for years would say that it seemed to just appear in the sky.

Bungo looked frightened but proud at once, and Belladonna simply smiled as the little wiggly mass was placed in her arms. Naked and wet still from his frightful journey, Bilbo only calmed once placed against his mother’s pale and sweaty skin, his small, lusty cries dim compared to the roar that had heralded his birth.

The hobbits –kith and kin alike – who had witnessed the birth were crowding around, oblivious to the storm, cooing and staring and congratulating.

Old Took sat beside the window smoking, looking out at the violence of the storm and chuckled.

Their lives would never be boring, not with one such as Bilbo among them.

*

There hadn’t been a dragonborn for centuries, according to the books his mum stacked for him to read. They hadn’t needed one, the hobbit folk had been at peace for so long it was said that they forgot how to use their Voices even if they never forgot having them.

Bilbo looked out the window of the study. It was cold and the mist was thick and low, but he could still see some of the young hobbitlings running about in the wet. He never resented the time his mother carved out for him to learn things that none of the other children had to learn, in fact he ate up all she offered and begged for more.

Belladonna taught him how to read and write – in Westron, in elvish, and of course, in the dragon language itself. She helped him learn to use his Voice in a variety of manners and even taught him how to use a knife and bow, which led to tracking and hunting game.

But never where Bungo, or anyone who would report to Bungo, could find them.

Bungo did not approve of his son learning odd letters and how to fight. But since he was able to teach Bilbo about business and bartering and about herbs and proper hobbit ideas, he never put up a fight.

These were things no respectable hobbit really set out to do – put noses in books, learn to fight or hunt – because they gave a hobbit lad ideas! Ideas that could lead them to nasty things such as adventures or the like, and other business that no proper hobbit had anything to do with.

His father particularly didn’t appreciate his learning those ‘infernal dragon words’ or the aftermath of Bilbo’s mediations on them. The wind and glow disconcerted the respectable hobbit like nothing else in the world (other than lateness of course)!

Bilbo sighed. He could hear them now, arguing again in the kitchen about his lessons. He had just finally unlocked the meaning of the word, _drem_ , meaning peace. The word would allow him, when necessary, to calm frightened or hostile beings either to help or escape them. The texts he’d found concerning the word made it either like the word would stun the being in question or truly calm them – he wasn’t sure unless he could practice.

And that was the one thing Bungo hated above anything – including the Sackville-Bagginses.

“He needs to learn these things Bungo! One day they will be useful!” Belladonna told her husband fiercely, not for the first time.

“When will they ever be useful, Bella? The other kids make fun of him, our neighbors are torn between awe or avoidance! When will this mystical Voice be anything other than an embarrassment!?” Bungo glared at his wife.

“It’s certainly no embarrassment to me, to have such a fine and smart son!” She snapped at him, slamming the baking tray in her hands onto the counter and whirling on her husband, “He is bright and special, one day he _will_ show that to the world! You better appreciate him now before you’re gone and he has _no one!_ ”

Bungo never argued with her again over lessons or his dragonblood. The years passed and Bilbo fought to please both parents and never quite succeeding.

Then Bungo died, then Belladonna died. Bilbo refused to use his Voice, though he never forgot he had it. 


	2. Chapter 2

  _Some years later…._

 

Bilbo stood staring at the document in his hands for a good few moments.

“You alright, laddie?” Balin questioned.

The sound of his voice jerked Bilbo from his contemplation; he gave a small nod then leveled a dark and serious glare at the wizard.

“You haven’t told them?” Bilbo asked, voice almost a growl.

The noise sent chills through the room, and Gandalf shifted uncomfortably.

“Ah, no. I have not. I thought I would leave that up to you.” The wizard said softly, blue eyes grim under the hobbit’s stare.

“No. You tell them – this is your harebrained idea in the first place!” Bilbo suddenly shouts waving the contract and the outburst startles the entire company, including Thorin who turns to face the Halfling.

“You are taking them from whatever homes they made for themselves, for..for what? Gold? Death? It’s a _dragon_ Gandalf!” Bilbo reigns in tone, aware of a rumble in the earth from it, and glares, “You might as well explain to them why I’m coming along and why you really want _me_ , out of all the others in Middle-Earth, why some lowly Halfling who isn’t actually a burglar, who’s never adventured in his life gets such a _grand_ honor!”

The rush of vertigo that sweeps over him was one that he was familiar with as a child first learning to control his Voice. He puts a hand to his head and waits for it to pass, lamenting that the Voice seemed to be like a muscle – flabby if unused, weak and shaky at the start of using it again.

The dwarves all look to Gandalf who twitches uncomfortably under the weight. Bilbo bent at the waist, hands resting on his knees trying to breathe through the sudden nausea.

“Well, Gandalf? What’s the lad talking about? If he’s no burglar – light of foot aside – then what do you think we need him for, truly?” Dwalin asked.

“You see, Master Dwalin, our hobbit is in fact someone who is well acquainted with dragons,” Gandalf eyed the hobbit who had gone a bit grey in the face with some concern, “since he has a dragon’s soul, that is.”

The wizard turns to see thirteen wide eyed stares locked onto him and nods, “Master Baggins is dragonborn, therefore, vital to this quest I should think. Since it pertains to a dragon.”

They all jumped at a loud thump, looking to find Bilbo sprawled out on the floor unconscious.

“Oh, dear. It seems that his disuse of the Voice has caused him some discomfort after all.” Gandalf muttered, kneeling beside the hobbit and touching his cheek.

The dwarves exploded into excited chatter as Gandalf scooped up the Halfling and moved him into a smaller, less crowded room.

Thorin Oakenshield watched silently after them, eyes dark and thoughtful.

*

“I just need to sit quietly for a moment.” Bilbo murmured into his tea cup, ignoring the wizard’s pacing.

“You’ve been sitting quietly for far too long! I remember a wild child who would run into the Old Wood with no fear, who taught himself to swim – who’s skill with a bow I haven’t seen paralleled outside of the Fair Folk. When did doilies and your mother’s china become so important to you?” Gandalf snapped, staring hard down at the hobbit.

Bilbo’s eyes snapped open and glared, burning amber in the firelight, up at the wizard before he leapt to his feet.

“When those were all I had of her! Of love or care! Do you think I love this life? I don’t fit in anywhere, Gandalf, but at least here I have some semblance of normalcy, of peace,” the hobbit hissed at him then stalked from the sitting room.

Gandalf sat with a tired sigh and rubbed his face. Thorin and Balin exchanged glances from their place in the hall.

The contract lay on the table next to a cup full of tea, signed with a neat hand.

 

 

Bilbo sat up late, listening to the rumble of the dwarves’ voices as they sang over and over in his mind. If he were honest with himself, he knew that neither of his parents would have tolerated his attitude toward Gandalf or this quest.

Though Bungo would not have liked it, he had always said that he believed in Bilbo and what Belladonna said, that he was special and needed, was true. Even his proper and respectable Baggins of a father, would have told him to scamper out the door.

Bilbo shuddered to think what his mother would have made of him that evening. He was mildly terrified of her haunting him if he hadn’t signed that contract.

He looked over at his packed bag and neatly tucked in bedroll, his staff leaning against the wall beside them. He sighed and settled into bed.

If Bilbo were even more honest with himself than he had been in a long time, this adventure would save him and it was that thought that he laid down to sleep with.

*

“So, I heard Gandalf say that you’re good with a bow?” Kili asked as he rode up beside the hobbit.

“Yes, I’m quite good at conkers too, but I rather doubt either would be useful.” Bilbo said with a shrug, ignoring the fact that his bow was neatly tied to the pony.

The fact he was on a pony at all was more intimidating than the look the young dwarf leveled at him.

“You don’t think bows are useful?” the lad asked and Bilbo snorted.

“I think they’re dead useful, I’ve provided food for my family and community with my bow in hard times, and I was quite young when I had to use it against White Wolves. I was merely saying that _my bow_ , in particular, could not possibly be an asset – small as I am.” Bilbo corrected him with a lopsided smile.

“I’m not tall either, Master Hobbit, but I should say that I’m a fine shot!” Kili boasted.

Bilbo smiled and inclined his head, “I shall look forward to a show then, of your skill.”

A contest of skill in a safer area would do much, Bilbo thought, to put the Company at ease.

Kili laughed and drew back to his brother’s side, they began to speak with low voices and heads bent together.

“Your bow is quite pretty, though lacking arrows.” Bofur complimented as he and Bifur drew up beside the hobbit.

“Thank you, and well, I was hoping to make arrows this evening once we settled down.” Bilbo told him.

“You whittle?” Bofur asked with surprise, sharing a look with his brother.

“I made the bow.” Bilbo nodded.

This was apparently the way to Bofur and Bifur’s good graces, Bilbo found, as their conversation was animated and cheerful though it consisted of wood types, techniques and other craft ideas until dark. 


	3. Chapter 3

The hobbit had been sitting quietly by the fire, listening to the chatter around him as he fletched arrows when the shrieks and screams of the Orcs in the forest far below their camp rang out.

The sound had made Bilbo jump, from remembrance and the closeness of the sound, and Kili had said the word, making Thorin jerk awake, a terror in his eyes that faded quickly. Bilbo had noticed and his heart had hurt at what the dwarf lord must have lived through to give him such a reaction. But then Kili had to make a joke of it.

It was the chuckles that made Bilbo growl, before Thorin’s darkening face was seen by his nephews.

“You think Orc raids in the night are funny?” the dwarf lord snaps, making his nephews cringe into themselves.

“We didn’t mean anything by it.” Kili murmured.

“Because you know nothing of Orcs, Master dwarf,” Bilbo snapped, “or how terrifying it is to be besieged by them without warning!”

Bilbo’s words made Thorin go still and drew the entire company’s attention – including Gandalf’s – and he ignored their eyes as he glared at the two brothers.

“The Shire hadn’t had cause for weapons for centuries. The Fell Winter brought White Wolves first, then orcs and wargs hot on their heels. So do not speak to me of meaning nothing by it!” Bilbo huffed, standing unmindful of the pile of sticks in his lap and sheathing is whittling knife, before stalking off to the edge of the camp near the cliff’s drop.

“You know nothing of the world, be more careful of your words.” Thorin growled, going to the hobbit’s side in silence.

Fili put a hand on his brother’s shoulder in comfort, looking to Balin who smiled.

“Don’t take it too hard lad, while I might not speak for Master Baggins, your uncle has more cause to hate orcs than most.” The old dwarf told them, looking toward the two figures on the ridge.

Balin then told the story of Moria, the horrifying battle and of the feud the Pale Orc began there. Bilbo listened from his place beside the king, and knew why the dwarf never spoke of that day. Similar reasons to why he never spoke of the Fell Winter.

Bilbo took a calming breath and shook out his hands, willing them to cease their trembling. Thorin looked down at the hobbit at the sigh and contemplated him for a moment.

When Gandalf had pulled him aside and warned him to not underestimate the Gentlehobbit, he had thought it had to do with the hobbit’s Thu’um. The dwarf had not thought it would extend to other hidden skills.

Thorin laid a hand on the hobbit’s shoulder, a brief and hesitant comfort. Bilbo turned his face up to the dwarf, the moon washing him in white and lighting his eyes up like amber.

“ _Krosis_ ,” Bilbo muttered in the dragon tongue, then shook himself, “Apologies, I mean, for speaking to your kin in a disrespectful manner.”

“ _Khul_ , peace, Master Baggins,” Thorin murmured, his grip firmed on the hobbit’s shoulder and he gave a slight smile, “they are young, they will learn – but until they do, they should guard their tongues. You gave them something to think about, there is no disrespect in that.”

Bilbo smiled lopsidedly then looked out over the forest below them, a carpet of dark in the night.

“ _Khuzdûl_ and _Dovtinvaak_ are not so different, perhaps, if you would be willing, you could teach me your tongue? And if you wish, I would teach you mine?” the hobbit offers tentatively, looking shy for the first time since Thorin has met him.

“As this journey is a long one I believe we could teach each other much, Master Baggins.” Thorin said.

They returned to their respective places by the fire, Thorin settling back into catch some sleep and Bilbo returning to his whittling. Bofur and Bifur soon joined the hobbit, leaving the others to sleep or simple tasks.

Gandalf chewed on his pipe for a few moments before settling down to sleep with an air of satisfaction.

*

Days later, they had made good progress toward the edges of Eriador toward the Misty Mountains. They camped that night near the ruins of a home, a farmer’s family once lived there according to Gandalf.

He and Thorin had shared words before the wizard had left in frustration.

“ _Pahlok_ ,” Bilbo muttered at the king making him pause, “that is your word for today.”

“What is its meaning?” Thorin asked gruffly. 

They had already had a drawn out conversation (the entire company had included themselves with curiosity) about how no one but Bilbo would be able to learn a word without being told the meaning. It had to do with meditation and his dragon soul; the dwarves were all disheartened by this.

“Arrogance.” Bilbo told him before going and helping the Fili and Kili wrangle and tie the ponies up in the shelter of the forest’s edge for the night.

Thorin glared after the hobbit, then at Balin and Dwalin who had been chuckling as they set up a fire ring.

 

Later that evening, Bilbo was intensely glad to have remembered his whittling knife – a razor sharp blade that could slice easily through stone as if butter, of dwarfish make and a cherished gift from his parents – as it bit effortlessly through the thick hemp rope penning the ponies in.

He barely had time to sheath the knife before he was snatched up by the trolls. Ponies, after all, were not particularly stealthy as they pounded through a forest as they fled for their lives.

Bilbo made a mental note to throttle Fili and Kili, in the event of his survival of this mess.

He was readying his Voice to free himself when a vicious Khuzdûl war cry preceded thirteen dwarves crashing through the trees to attack three mountain trolls. Bilbo was unceremoniously dropped and then he had to scramble to his feet and dance through the dwarves and trolls to get out of the way, unarmed as he was (whittling knife not withstanding).

Bilbo had just reached the edge of the melee when he was grabbed up again, much to his angered frustration. Two trolls had him, each an arm and a leg, and he couldn’t see an end to this where blood was not spilt and resigned himself.

But Thorin surprised him (or maybe not, he’d proven a few times already that he wasn’t incapable on this trip, and the dwarf seemed to appreciate his presence among the others) by thrusting his sword tip into the dirt and scowling at the trolls.

The others followed but most of them wound up scowling at Bilbo.

 

They were roughly divvied up between a spit and being bagged roughly. Bilbo was torn between praying for a miracle (or for Gandalf to return) and trying to think of a solution. He couldn’t use his Thu’um while the trolls were so close to his comrades, or to the fire, otherwise there was a near certainty of harming them in the process.

He heard one of the trolls mention something about turning to stone in the sunlight and went still. Bilbo felt like slapping himself. No, he couldn’t use his Thu’um, but he was still the fastest talker and best storyteller in the Shire.

Mind made up, Bilbo struggled to his feet.

“I think you’re making a huge mistake!” He called out to the trolls, interrupting their argument about seasonings of all things.

“About the seasoning, I mean.” He added quickly, when they glared at him.

“What about the seasoning?” the leader asked, crouching before him and getting into his face.

“Well, I just think you’ll need more than sage before you plate this lot up! I mean, have you smelled them?” Bilbo asked.

“What do you know about cookin’ dwarf?” the troll questioned suspiciously.

“Enough.” Bilbo said simply, “Though I prefer boar or venison to dwarf. Tough and gritty things they are.”

Bilbo studiously ignored the rumble of protests coming from his company. The urge to drop his head was overwhelming.

“Terrible hunters, we are. Damned things can hear us comin’ a mile away.” The troll cranking the spit complained.

“How about I make a deal with you,” Bilbo suggested, lacing his voice with power and struggling not to shiver from the strain, “if I can hunt for you, say six boar and six deer – good sized ones – then you let us go.”

“And if you can’t?” the whiny one hissed.

“Then you can eat us. Though you might want mushrooms and frost mirram to make us palatable.” Bilbo told them, with as much seriousness as he could muster.

The trolls looked to each other, then after what seemed like a millennium, they all nodded.

The troll that crouched before him unbagged him, while the other two lifted the spit from the fire and laid it down. They made no move to untie any of the dwarves.

Bilbo looked at Thorin, who stared hard at him for a moment then gave a nod, before he took off into the forest.


	4. Chapter 4

It took him one hour and too much of his Thu’um, but he dragged all of his kills back to the trolls. There were seven boars, and twelve deer and all of them twice the size or more of the hobbit.

Bilbo had quietly apologized to their spirits before dragging them through the forest. He had kept a weather eye on the skyline as well; he only needed to distract them long enough for dawn to come.

The dwarves all stared bug-eyed as Bilbo finished dragging his kills in to the clearing. The trolls all laughed and clapped each other’s backs like they had been the one to hunt it all. Bilbo stood, hands on his hips and glared at the trolls.

“You’re end of the bargain, Master trolls.” He growled, a rumble going through the forest floor at the sound.

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw a flash of gray in a break of vegetation on the rocks behind the trolls.

“Yes, yes. We’ll free your dwarves.” One began.

“After we’ve eaten!” The other two chorused.

Bilbo moved out from in front of the meat and inched closer to the tumble of dwarves.

“The Dawn take you all!” came a roaring voice followed by a flash of light.

The boulder protecting the trolls from the encroaching dawn split wide open and red-gold light bathed the trolls. Hissing, they turned to stone and moved no more.

Bilbo gave a short nod before toppling over and sitting with his head bent between his knees.

He made a note to himself to practice using his Voice more, otherwise, when it was really needed, he would collapse from it.

*

Half the company made their way after Gandalf for the trolls’ hold, the other half helped Bilbo make what use they could of the pile of corpses and the giant fire the trolls left for them.

Skins were tossed to Ori and Dori for cleaning, bones and entrails tossed into a hastily dug hole, the meat was divvied up for breakfast, smoking and salting. The idea was that they would take the morning to preserve as much of the meat as they could, hoping to add to their provisions.

Oín and Bombur dealt with the preservation, Fili helping by carving the meats. Kili, Gloín and Bilbo foraged in the forest for mushrooms, wild onions, assorted herbs and whatever else they could get. They found grouse nests full of late eggs, bushes of blackberries (Bilbo slapped Kili’s hands away from the honeysuckle berries, which were poisonous), and Gloín had stumbled into a neat patch of mushrooms. Bilbo focused on the various edible and medicinal herbs to be found, which he was sure Oín (their ‘medic’ for all intents and purposes) would appreciate.

He’d even found a lush patch of kingsfoil, which had made the hobbit happy indeed.

When they hauled their finds back to the others, the ones who made the excursion to the cave had returned (and had also apparently broke their first camp and rustled the ponies) and were either helping or tending to the ponies.

Bilbo was helping chop vegetables for a fry in fat (which Bombur was beginning to hoard like a dragon would gold) when Thorin sat beside him and took up assisting the hobbit. The king had left his cloak and heavy coat over his pony and rolled up his tunic sleeves.

“We will rest here today and tonight. We will leave before first light in the morning.” Thorin told the hobbit.

Bilbo looked at him with a raised brow, wondering where this sudden share of information was coming from. Thorin caught the look and cleared his throat.

“ _Izzan abhyûr udu zu_.*” Thorin rumbled softly.

Bilbo took a moment to work that out in his head before he smiled and companionably bumped his shoulder into Thorin’s. He didn’t think it was so bad to learn from the king either.

They worked in silence as the rest of the company chatted and laughed around them.

*

“Bilbo tell us how you bagged this game! It’s driving Mister Dwalin nuts!” Fili begged, laughing as the gruff warrior glared at him.

“Aye, Master Baggins, it has been. I noticed that there were no wounds on any of the animals’ hides.” Dwalin grumbled.

Gandalf sat up at that and pinned the flushing hobbit with a dark and concerned look. This made the other dwarves both intensely interested in the answer and mildly afraid of it. 

“Ah, well, that is…I, uhm. It’s hard to explain.” Bilbo said, rubbing his cheek. “I would have to show you.”

The others encouraged him to before Gandalf could tell him no. So they watched as he settled on the edge of the forest in a cross legged pose and breathed deeply.

There is a soft barking of a string of words then a hush falls over them, over the forest. A few heartbeats later a sparrow flutters down without a hesitation and lands upon the hobbit’s open hand.

He whispers a word and the bird falls over, dead without a mark on it. Bilbo gets shakily to his feet then brings the animal to the company for inspection. Gandalf is outright glaring at him now, which doesn’t help the shaking in his legs.

“Why, that’s the kindest killing I have ever seen!” Balin exclaimed as he handed the bird back to Bilbo.

The rest of them erupted into chatter and arguing, quite content to ignore the hobbit as he stumbled back to the forest and leaned against a tree to help him remain upright. Bilbo whispered one word.

Only Gandalf and Thorin noticed the bird hop across the hobbit’s visibly shaking hand before it took flight once more.

Thus they were there only seconds after the hobbit fell into the tall grass, unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Lit. translation of what Thorin says is, "Not so bad to learn from you." As in, Thorin respects (mostly) Bilbo and realized that the Hobbit is a good teacher (in more ways than simply language acquisition).


	5. Chapter 5

Later that evening, once the rest of the company was sleeping (except for Gloín who was on watch) Thorin moved to Gandalf’s side as he smoked beside where the hobbit lay in his bedroll. Thorin had a brief moment of amusement at the sight of Bilbo bundled up in so many furs, before the seriousness of the hobbit’s pallor returned. The king sat beside the wizard and waited.

“What he did today was both very foolish and very frightening.” Gandalf murmured around his pipe.

“Why so?” Thorin asked.

“Foolish, because he has not used his Thu’um in any capacity for far too long to use it so much and so powerfully in one day – it overwhelmed him. Frightening, well,” Gandalf looked at Thorin, “He asked for an animal to come to him, one did, and he killed it. Severed the link between body and soul with a word, but no, that was not what was truly frightening." 

Gandalf looked down at the hobbit something sad and dark in his eyes.

“No, it was bringing the creature back to life, fully and wholly the same before the moment of its death. That is what frightened me – the power he possesses. Vala be thanked such power lay within a Hobbit.” The wizard muttered, affectionately carding his fingers through the hobbit’s gold curls. 

Thorin looked up at the moon thoughtfully. Neither wizard nor dwarf king got much sleep that night.

 

 

The wee hours just before dawn had the company in a flurry of motion as they were up and packing, readying both dwarves and ponies to leave.

Gandalf appeared at Bilbo’s side as he got Myrtle saddled and loaded up, making the hobbit jump.

“Do not ever use those words again.” Gandalf rumbled into the hobbit’s ear, “I will not see you kill yourself.”

Bilbo stared at Gandalf before giving him a dark look, “I never use them lightly. I won’t use them again,” Gandalf relaxed visibly, “unless it’s necessary.” Bilbo added.

When Gandalf drew himself to his full height, Bilbo did the same and glared up at the wizard.

“Do not mistake what I did for carelessness! I was trying to save the company!” Bilbo hissed.

“It was not the beasts’ deaths that worries me, Bilbo Baggins, but one bird’s _life_.” Gandalf hissed back.

Bilbo went pale and he looked away. “I’ve only used that word twice in my life.”

“Do not use it again.” Gandalf warned.

Bilbo nodded and returned to his task without looking at the wizard.

“And practice more! I will not have you fainting after every exertion of your Voice!” The wizard snapped before stalking back to his own horse.

If anyone noticed the distance between the wizard and the hobbit, no one said a word.

*

It was late morning, edging toward noon when the crashing they heard revealed itself to be a wizard on a sled drawn by gigantic rabbits.

The low conversation of the wizards didn’t interest the hobbit as much as the sudden hush that fell over the woods. There were predators stalking in the daylight and the potential prey had all gone silent.

Bilbo moved closer to Kili. “We might just be able to show off our skills with bows.” The hobbit muttered.

“Why do you say that?” Kili asked, tensing.

“The forest has gone eerily quiet, just be ready.” The hobbit said.

The warning spread silently through the company, each tensing hands on handles of weapons and eyes shifting restlessly.

Ori and Nori came back and reported the ponies had bolted, which made the company even more on edge.

Bilbo froze when the snarl sounded behind him. He turned in time for Thorin to should about scout wargs and to have them both cut down on either side of him.

Their flight from the forest was like a blur to the hobbit, as the Brown wizard and his team of rabbits led their pursuers away from them. It was when they were surrounded that Bilbo drew his bow and notched an arrow.

“Kili!” Bilbo shouted, making the young dwarf look to him.

“Aim for the eyes and the throat!” He called, taking careful aim before letting lose and arrow that took down a warg and sent its rider flying.

“That’s one!” Bilbo boasted, smirking.

Kili grinned wolfishly and drew his own bow. He got a rider, then its warg.

“That’s two!” the dwarf called back.

They kept picking the orcs and wargs off until Thorin shouted for them. Both of them dashed for the king and where he stood, the remains of the pack snarling on their heels.

Bilbo pushed Kili before him, who dropped down into the stone crevice, and then shoved Thorin after him. He saw the elves but knew the Fair folk wouldn’t reach them in time to prevent the pack from routing their hiding hole.

He gathered as much power from the empty grass lands and jutting rocks as he could before taking a deep breath and shouting, “ _Borul!_ ” which echoed roughly across the plains and barreled into the enemies.

The hobbit had a momentary satisfaction to see the utter fear and horror enter into the orcs before he was grabbed and pulled roughly down into the crevice.

Thorin’s face was thunderous, and he had a fierce grip on Bilbo.

Just as the dwarf king opened his mouth to snarl at the hobbit, Dwalin came back.

“There’s a pathway, but I don’t know where it leads. Do we follow it?”

“Of course!” Bofur replied.

The company made their way after the warrior and toymaker.

Only Fili, Kili and Gandalf lingered, as Bilbo gently squeezed Thorin’s fist.

“You are no longer simply _their_ king.” Bilbo said softly, “Do not begrudge me what little protection I can give you.”

Thorin’s scowl darkened for a moment, making Kili step forward even as his brother caught his arm, before he set the hobbit down and released him. The dwarf lord cuffed him affectionately before smiling crookedly.

“Let’s get going.” He murmured, ushering his nephews ahead of him.

“Yes, that would be wise.” Gandalf said softly, to himself.

Bilbo glanced at the wizard sharply, then followed. 


	6. Chapter 6

From stepping outside his gate to Rivendell, the past two weeks had been a rather trying time for Bilbo. He wasn’t a slow hobbit in any sense of the word, so it had not escaped his notice that once Gandalf revealed what Bilbo was to the Company they had all kept a distance from him. 

Bofur and his cousin Bifur would chat with him, that was true, and the two boys – Fili and Kili – would joke and pester him with questions, but on the whole not even they would linger too long in his company. The hobbit never took to the edges of their group out of his own desires but when it came to meals or sleep there just never seemed to be room for him, and so he would keep to himself as they wished it. 

He expected that it would be the same in Rivendell. They were given several rooms to share, and Bilbo chose the very last room at the end of the hall as the others divvied up the rest by family. 

It was on a corner and had two open walls with terraces overlooking the river and the dell itself. The bed was large enough to fit four hardy dwarves with space between and looked very comfortable, and the dresser was equipped with bathing necessities. There was a sunken tub in the corner and Bilbo felt that it might be the best part of the room. 

The hobbit dropped his pack and cloak onto a chair, rid himself of his jacket and went to the terrace. He leaned against the rail and breathed deeply. As the sun sank deeper, the air cooled but it remained refreshing and clean rather than turning chilled and damp. 

A brief knock on his door jerked him from his contemplation, it opened as he turned. There stood Fili and Kili, looking both determined and mildly anxious. They had their belongings with them. 

“Ah, it seems you drew the short straw then?” Bilbo smiled briefly. 

“What? No! No. Fili ask him.” Kili elbowed his brother, earning a quick glare for it.

“We were wondering if you would like company, Master Baggins? We want to room with you.” Fili said. 

They both looked like pups wishing to crawl into their master’s lap and fearing being sent away. He felt warmth in his heart and smiled lopsidedly, but before he could even open his mouth Kili was hurriedly reassuring him.

“It’s just that, we like you Master Baggins, and well, we aren’t afraid of you or uneasy with you. And it’s shameful the way we’ve let it go on so long, with you having to be on the edges of things,” the young dwarf said looking ashamed. 

Bilbo went to them and took their packs and settled them on the floor beside the chair his own rested on and gestured for them to come to him. 

“Come, out of all that gear. No weapons, no cloaks. This is a place of rest, and one of the last places we’ll get it.” Bilbo told them, assisting them in removing their outerwear and weapons. 

“Let’s go get food, Master Baggins, we’re starving!” Kili grabbed his hand and proceeded to drag the hobbit from their room. 

“You may call me Bilbo, you know, you are technically my elder,” the hobbit grinned. 

Fili just laughed at his brother’s flummoxed expression before throwing his arm around the hobbit’s shoulders. 

At dinner the brothers kept the hobbit between them, included him in their conversations and it seemed easier for Bofur and Bifur to join them. Bilbo glanced at Thorin, catching blue eyes already on him. The king gave him a nod, eyes smiling where his mouth was not, before going back to his conversation with Balin and Gandalf. 

Bilbo smiled to himself then leaned against Fili, who had an arm around him, and continued to eat. He could remember, just barely, the last time he was this warm, this content. He hoped that it wasn’t the last time. 

 

Bilbo stood awkwardly between Thorin and Gandalf, as the elf lord Elrond studied the map. The glow from the elf was almost blinding while he used his Valar given gifts to discern the date they needed. The hobbit rubbed his eyes, pressing the heels of his palms into the sockets until he saw nothing but black and pin pricks of light. 

“You must excuse Master Baggins. He is particularly sensitive to power in any form. I used to give him quite the fright as a youngster when doing even the slightest magic.” Gandalf said, making Bilbo jerk his hands from his eyes and look up sheepishly. 

“Oh?” Elrond tilted his head in question looking at the hobbit with both curiosity and concern. 

“Maiar are …startling in their true forms, to be honest. As a young child Gandalf used to frighten me as much as he fascinated me,” the halfling muttered, flushing scarlet. 

“Ah, well. All magic, all power, has a form of its own other than what we see,” the elf lord looked at the hobbit with a kind and pointed smile, “a dragon’s soul in a hobbit’s body, for instance, does its best but cannot completely conceal the truth of the being.” 

Thorin and Balin exchanged a glance as Bilbo stared at the elf. Gandalf hid a smile. 

“We will be able to read this map the night after tomorrow. Please, take the time to rest and recover. I am sure that this will be one of the last comforts you will find, if you pursue your course.” Elrond counseled gently.

Thorin gave a much more grateful nod than either Balin or Gandalf ever expected from the dwarf. 

Bilbo smiled to himself and looked out of the library windows at the waxing moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been too long since I updated, but I promise to update more regularly after May 17th. I have the entire story planned out already, and most of it written in snippets. Thank you to everyone who have stuck with me on this and I truly appreciate everyone's support!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is longer because I'm trying to make up for how much time it's been since my last update! I'm sorry for the delay, but life has gotten in the way more than I like. :( 
> 
> I promise to try to update more regularly! Thank you so, so much to everyone who has stuck with this story, who have given kudos and commented! I really appreciate you all!

The next day, Bilbo meant to find a quiet, semi-indestructible space and practice. Imladris was so steeped with ancient power that every breath the hobbit took he soaked it in.

He had stepped into the dining hall to find himself amongst several elves – including Lord Elrond – and Gandalf. After a peaceful, if somewhat embarrassing (really, calling him _dovahkiin_ as if he didn’t already have a proper name, or as if he’d earned some glorious battle title), breakfast, Elrond and Gandalf lead Bilbo down winding stone stairs toward a flat, natural out cropping of rock jutting over a powerful rushing waterfall.

The two elders then proceeded to settle in on benches cut into the rock face and look on as if expecting some great entertainment. Bilbo gave them both a flat look before settling on the ground cross legged.

This was what Belladonna had always impressed on Bilbo – pull in the energy around himself rather than simply expend his own. Meditation, his mother would say, is the first step to salvation.

Bilbo felt the power around him, and wondered at its life, its animation, its sentience. So old and mighty this place of peace and protection that the very stones themselves were overwhelmed with power, with life – and with each deep, focusing breath, Bilbo became a part of that.

Fire, he decided suddenly, practice fire. He opened his eyes with a grin, these words used to get him near skinned with trouble back as a fauntling.

“Dear, I’m not sure I like that look.” Bilbo heard Gandalf mutter, Elrond’s answering chuckle soft.

“ _Yol, Toor, Shul_.” He tasted the words individually, not using his Thu’um, but simply reacquainting himself with them.

Bilbo focused then, standing, on the rush of water on the opposite wall of the ravine they were settled in.

He breathed in, then, “ _Yol-toor-shul!_ ” fire bloomed in the space of his mouth and shot like a sputtering stream at the water.

He coughed, lips tingling. The laughter behind him made him grumble and push his shirt sleeves up. 

This was obviously going to take a while.

 

 

When Thorin and the older dwarrows found the younglings, they found them in the midst of young elfkind, some of the older warriors, Elrond and Gandalf. They were all arranged in a semi-circle around what looked like a somewhat singed elf warrior and Bilbo Baggins. 

Bilbo looked wild – his unnaturally bright eyes were actually glowing like the sun shine from within them, steam was lazily curling away from his nostrils and the corners of his mouth, a little blood was smudged near his nose and dripped slowly from someplace in his sweat dampened curls.

“What is going on here?” Balin asked of an elf lass standing near the back on benches to see over her brethren.

 “Master Baggins is dueling Lord Glorfindel!” She laughed, eyes immediately back on the two fighters.

“The Balrog Slayer?!” Gloín hissed incredulously.

There was a cheer, and the dwarrows pushed their way through the towering crowd to the front where Fili, Kili, Ori, Bofur and Bifur were sitting on the ground with other elflings and warriors.

Bilbo was breathing deeply, but steadily, which was a point in his favor, but he looked as if he were on the last dregs of his energy. Thorin refused to feel fear for the hobbit, but he certainly did not like the situation the halfling had found himself in.

Glorfindel, golden hair pulled back in a warrior’s braid, notched an arrow and let it fly.

Bilbo didn’t move, he whispered something that rumbled through the audience soundlessly. The edges of his body when transparent the same moment the arrow would have punctured his heart, instead it buried itself between two startled elves into the rock face. The somehow there, yet not, version of Bilbo tossed himself forward in a roll and came up with actual fire in his mouth. The elf lord nearly escaped the leaping flame, nearly, because Bilbo succeeded on setting the end of his braid alight.

The elf and Bilbo shared a mildly panicked look before Bilbo shouted, “ _Fo-krah-diin!_ ” and the flames were extinguished by the pale mist, only, instead of flames, Bilbo left a great deal of the braid encased in a solid block of ice.

The entire space was silent for several heart beats before Glorfindel himself fell to his knees laughing, tears gathered in his eyes. Bilbo, winded, simply blushed dark red in embarrassment, and sat down gracelessly. The edges of him solidified again, making him look whole and sweaty and real rather than ghostly.

Bilbo groaned and sprawled backwards on the cool rock floor, ignoring the rest of the world as the chatter and laughter faded into silence, deep breathing and a replenishment of energy.

The hobbit came back to himself surrounded by the Company and Gandalf.

“You have certainly opened up, since you began this journey.” The wizard noted, making Bilbo grin.

“I can feel it,” he murmured.

“You were amazing, Bilbo!” Kili laughed, helping Fili retell the epic duel of Bilbo Baggins and Glorfindel Balrog-slayer.

Bilbo smiled weakly up at the sky and let himself drift away.

 

 

Dusk settled with a quiet that Thorin had never really experienced in his life – the life of Erebor never silent even in its softer moments, and the road was never silent as the world lived on loudly around him. There was the softest spell of music that played constantly in the elven stronghold, yet it did nothing to dispel the quiet of the sunset.

The displaced king found himself in a nook overlooking the dell already occupied by two of the most unlikely of companions – Bilbo and Bifur were whittling away at various kinds of wood, and having a half conversation of signs and grumbled words.

In Bilbo’s hands was the rudimentary outline of something like a comb or hair clasp as far as Thorin could tell, and it was made of apple wood.

“That is an interesting choice, Master Baggins,” Thorin murmured as he settled beside the two, taking out his pipe.

“Ah, well. Apple trees mean something to us Hobbits,” Bilbo offered with a shrug.

“Does your kind assign meaning to a great many things?” Thorin asked, glancing at Bifur who was listening despite the intent look to the bits of metal and wood in his hands.

“In nature, yes, we have found meaning in many things. Over the centuries of our existence we have always been inexorably intertwined with the land, we understand the magic inherent in it.” Bilbo explained, smiling down at the rough shape in his fingers. 

“You see, apple trees are a pleasant and friendly kind of tree. We associate with it the feelings of affection and good will, and of course, wholeness, because that is what it tells us it wants to mean. Does that make sense?” Bilbo asked, blinking at the penetrating blue stare leveled at him. 

“You actually speak with the earth?” Thorin asked, sharing a startled glance with Bifur who had looked up at Bilbo’s words.

“After a fashion,” Bilbo nodded, “we make very good scouts or huntsmen primarily because the world speaks and we listen. Can we hold conversations, as we are now, with nature? No, of course not, we are not like the _Istari_.” Bilbo laughed.

“Do your people not speak to the stones, as we do? I would have thought that the children of Mahal, would have a gift similar to the peoples belonging to his wife’s.” Bilbo looked between the two dwarrows, curious.

“We do not speak to them, no, but we have a sort of connection to the stone that could act as a kind of communication.” Thorin said, Bifur nodded and muttered something.

Bilbo tilted his head in confusion, Thorin’s lips quirked into a grin, “Bifur thinks that it’s a connection borne from sleeping so long under the earth. We are more prone than any other race to find, temper and create such items of worth.”

Bilbo nodded then returned to his carving, Bifur pointed to something that made him smile and nod. Thorin turned away, stifling a tendril (or blaze, if honesty were with him) of jealousy at their easy way of speaking without words.

They had one more day of rest before Elrond could read the runes; Thorin was determined to put his budding feelings and pesky thoughts of the halfling from his mind.

There were more important things to contemplate.  


End file.
